


Like The World Would Have Ended

by twinkrevali



Series: Androids in Love [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Angst, Crime Fighting, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15415146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkrevali/pseuds/twinkrevali
Summary: 'Am I just gonna keep referring to you as My Saviour or do you have a mortal name to go by?'The question makes Bokuto's cheeks flush and he runs a hand through his hair nervously before extending it towards Kuroo with a lopsided smile.'Bokuto Koutarou. Ex-roboticist.'





	Like The World Would Have Ended

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I accidentally somehow deleted this so this is a reupload, it's meant 2 be back story for how Kuroo and Bokuto know each other in my android au so keep that in mind while reading I guess!!  
> The second half of this fic was written while listening to the song We Were In Love by Ta-Ku so maybe give that a listen to get an idea of the general vibez goin on haha okay nice pls enjoy thanks

Bokuto has just been kicked out of the laboratory he is stationed at, watching the androids he crafted by hand burning. He doesn’t hear himself screaming, can’t feel the burn at the back of his throat, but judging by the way the bots by his side are glowing – red alert – he’s sure there is some sort of sound being emit from his body. He doesn’t know what he expects when he tears his gaze away from the bonfire in front of him, but it is not finding himself crying, blinking as he notices fat drops of tears breaking against the oil stained concrete at his feet. _You know there is no explanation for why we cry, why we do that_ , he thinks absently, raising his head to look back into the blaze. _Why we don’t program androids to cry?_

When the fire has burned down, there are only wires; unrecognisable faces left stuck in clods of dirt and concrete chips scattered around the facility’s burn-off yard. There’s a period of quiet – soft sounds of popping embers and the smell of burnt rubber – and then they let him go, leading him gently through the empty corridors as though they haven’t just burned down every piece of himself he has built over the last five years. As though he isn’t still burning, alive with every ghost in every machine he has ever made.

“I’m not the only one who thinks you’re wrong,” he says as the Director watches him being led through the laboratory foyer.

Bokuto knows the Director isn’t listening, waving absently as they turn their back to him, but he can’t stop– can’t stop the words bouncing around his head, can’t stop the static jumping under his skin.

“You’ll make more progress at the new complex,” the Director says, distant, and Bokuto doesn’t look back when he hears the doors slam behind him.

For a while he wanders, weaving his way through the city slums as though he hasn’t lived there his entire life. It’s late enough for companion bots to have started lurking, glowing from within dark alleys as they watch the world shuffle past them; invisible to all but those who know them. There is nothing about them that feels like home, but under a skyline heavy with the guilt and sin that people bring with them when they move past it, Bokuto finds his fingers twitching, aching to feel the hum of metal under skin, soft and quiet and comforting.

“Here for something new?” A voice reaches out from the darkness, and he turns, ignoring the embers reigniting under his skin.

“I’m here for something familiar,” he answers, and the companion bot shifts from darkness into light, advancing towards him with a knowing smile.

“I can give you what you need.”

(There is nothing but silence as they move together, Bokuto running the flat of his palm against every surface he can find on the buzzing surface of the android. There is nothing but silence, nothing but light, nothing but Bokuto and his companion and a fleeting familiarity that feels more far away than ever before.)

When he leaves, the bot watches him, calculating and steady as it tracks his movement without a sound. He’s halfway down the street when he hears the crash, sees the door to the bar across the street slam open and three men drag a fourth down an alleyway next to the building, shouting incoherently as the figure struggles to break out of their grip. He blinks as he hears the first cry waft out from the dark depths of the alleyway, wondering if it's the man who was dragged out or one of his attackers. He deliberates which move he should make before crossing the road without looking and stepping into the bar, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on a hook by the door. He knows it's likely to get snatched while he's getting a drink but he doesn't care, doesn't register how numb he feels until he feels the burn of a drink tear its way down his throat.

"Who just got dragged out of this place?" He asks the bartender, noting the way she tenses up, facing him with a calculating expression.

"He fucked with a group of regulars, started a damn near brawl over a fuckin' bot, no less."

The mention of androids piques his interest, and he leans forward on his bar stool, facing the girl behind the bar with a crooked smile.

"An android, huh?" he cocks his head slightly, watching as she narrows her eyes, taking a cautious step back.

"Y-yeah," she frowns, glancing to the side.

He follows her gaze to see a server android seated in the darkest corner of the bar, facing the wall as another gently pulls shards of glass from its shoulder. He can see the static emanating from its body as it begins to short circuit, and before the girl can explain further, he slams his drink back down onto the bar and moves towards the android with long strides.

"What happened?" he growls at the bot pulling the shards of glass, and the android turns to him with a blank expression.

"A group of regular customers at the establishment broke a glass over Yachi's head. We are fine."

"Like hell you are, " Bokuto spits, and the android assesses him with an even expression.

"This android is going to short circuit in a minute," he says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning to stare at the door.

"You have a lab attached to this facility, right?" he asks, and when the android nods, he nods back, moving back to the entrance of the bar and slipping out ignoring the eyes he can feel boring into his back.

“Make sure you fix her up properly.”

(It’s not the way Bokuto thought his first night as a fugitive would transpire – fighting alongside a beautiful stranger with a warped sense of justice – but here he is. He’s never been one to make light of the circumstances he finds himself in, so he doesn’t question why, as he lands a punch to another man’s temple, he is here. He doesn’t even know the stranger’s name – the one fighting behind him – doesn’t care to ask as they laugh through each hit, grinning across the alley as though they’ve known each other for their whole lives. He’s one wrong move from murmuring “so do you come here often?” one awkward stumble, but the misstep never comes, overly confident moves carrying him through the brawl with all the grace of a swan dancing across a lake. When the wrong move does come, though, all he’s left to ask is “how the fuck did we get here?” He doesn’t stop to wonder why ‘you’ translates to ‘we’.)

01101000

What Bokuto doesn’t know is that it’s two hours ago and Kuroo is getting tired of hearing the table behind him spitting on the android that's been assigned to serve them. He swallows the last of the amber liquid that the bartender offered him when he entered the bar. It sits in his stomach, blood growing warm as the alcohol settles. He's about to call for another when he hears a glass shatter, turning slightly to assess the cause of the noise. When he sees the android bent over, shaking as they struggle not to short circuit with alcohol soaking through their uniform, he freezes. The android is bent over, picking up the broken glass at their feet. Kuroo blinks twice as he registers that the rest of the larger shards are caught in their shoulder, sticking out at jagged angles as they catch the low light emanating from the bulbs hanging loosely from the ceiling. He smiles as he moves up and out of his seat, weaving his way through the room to where the android is crouched until it registers the movement behind it and jumps up, eyes wide. He doesn't register the ugly sound of the people at the table laughing as they watch him reach out to the bot, brushing glass off the front of it's shirt as it watches him, eyes flickering.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and when the bot bows slightly, his smile turns razor sharp, eyes narrowing dangerously as they move to focus on the people still cackling as they watch the exchange.

"It's a fuckin bot, dude," the man seated closest to him at the table grins, mouth opening like a gaping wound as he watches Kuroo tense.

When his fist connects with the man's face, he doesn't feel it. When the man jumps up to retaliate, the world around him crashes like waves, breaking into absolute clarity. To the right of him, he registers the android dropping to the floor and trying to crawl away before another server comes and helps it move away from the brawl. In the split second it takes him to register that the bot is safe though, he's grabbed by the collar and dragged out of the venue by the rest of the table, the guy who's nose Kuroo broke glaring at him through blood and spittle. As the door swings shut he watches the rest of the bar staring at him struggling to break free from the grip of his attackers. He doesn't miss the way their mouths are twisted in disgust.

They throw him against the crumbling wall behind the venue, head hitting the brick with a crack.

"You know there's no point fucking with androids," one of the men says, and the sound is distant and muffled, the world around Kuroo bursting into colour as his ears begin to ring.

Through the fog he hears the man continue.

"They're walking computers. They don't understand what it means to be alive."

The words are harsh, cutting through the fog and hitting Kuroo between the ears as he registers one of the men shifting. Before they can land a kick to his stomach, he ducks out from where they've caged him against the wall, moving out so he faces their backs as they stare at the wall, movements laggy as the alcohol in their systems slows down reaction times. When they finally turn to face him, he's ready, easily dodging the first attack and landing a sharp punch to the closest perpetrators side. As the guy struggles to regain his balance, Kuroo lunges; moving away from the other two attackers and slamming his foot down on the still staggering figure's lower back. The force of the kick sends him sprawling face first into the damp concrete beneath them, hitting the ground with a wet ‘thud’. The man attempts to pick himself up from the ground before Kuroo slams his foot down on the man's back once more, eliciting a howl of pain from the figure as he stops fighting, whimpering against the dark ground. Kuroo takes a second to admire his handiwork before looking up to where the other two are moving towards him with open arms, faces contorting as they lunge at him at the same time. He side steps the attack, but isn't quick enough to evade it completely, feeling the man on the left clip his arm. The man wrenches his arm back towards him, causing Kuroo to trip and fall back into the wall in an attempt to regain his balance. His cheek connects with the rough brick again, painfully, and he becomes aware of the taste of blood in his mouth as he turns to face the men once more. In a faraway part of his brain, he can feel something warm beginning to make tracks down the side of his face, but the feeling is numbed by the adrenaline coursing his veins. His eye sight has started to blur – no doubt from connecting with the brick the second time – but in the moment between breaking away from the wall and turning and throwing himself at the men once more, the world presents itself to him in pops of colour. Before he can land a hit however, they grab him and throw him to the ground, stepping on his hands to pin him down. He tries to kick out of their grip but the movement only grates his knuckles against the concrete more and he stops trying with a wince as the men grin down at him, smiles wild and vicious.

"You're not bad," one of them spits, and Kuroo growls as he feels his hand being ground into the concrete under the speaker's boot.

"I wish I could say the same for you," he manages to grit out, and the men’s faces twist again, leaning over and picking him up off the concrete.

Before they can slam him into the ground again though, there's a flash of movement from the entrance of the alleyway, and the men freeze, blinking at where the movement came from.

"What the fuck," one of them mutters, before suddenly he's pulled back, forcing all three of them to go flailing into the ground.

As they struggle to untangle themselves from each other, Kuroo becomes aware of someone pulling him up and away from the men, blinking as the figure in front of him races away from where the men struggle against each other. When they reach the entrance of the alleyway the hand holding Kuroo's lets go, and he stumbles forwards as the force of inertia paired with alcohol throws him off balance. When he regains his balance, he's met with a pair of amber eyes blinking owlishly at him, head cocked to the side.

"What the fuck?" Kuroo begins to say, but before he can continue, the figure's line of sight shifts from Kuroo to the alleyway behind him.

"Fuck, you better get ready to run," he says, and Kuroo scrunches his nose.

"I've never run from a fight," he growls back, and his response is met with a smile.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

They move back into the alleyway to meet the men running at them, forgetting their friend on the ground behind them in favour of chasing Kuroo and his anonymous companion.

"Who do you want?" the stranger murmurs as the men circle them like wild dogs, and Kuroo blinks, smile creeping across his face. "Whoever you don't."

There's the sound of laughter as they stand back to back, waiting for each of the men to lunge at them. The men seem to have the same idea, splitting up to attack both Kuroo and the stranger respectively, and they fight back to back, throwing their men at each other while ducking and weaving around each other.

"So why are you fighting these dogs?" The stranger yells over the men's screams of anger, landing a hit on one of their throats.

"The one on the floor over there broke a glass over a 'droid in the bar. I didn't realise I'd landed a hit until they dragged me out here," Kuroo crows back, moving to catch a hit thrown at him and twisting the man's arm until he hears a pop and a scream.

"That's some fucked up shit, dude, three on one. Really?" the stranger replies, and Kuroo huffs out a laugh as he parries another hit.

"Would you have done any different?" He asks, and it's the figure's turn to laugh as he throws the man he's fighting into the wall with a crash.

"Absolutely not."

The words are emphasised by the effort the stranger puts into stepping on the man's stomach, bringing his foot down as his victim groans against the ground, curling into a defensive position. The last man standing staggers towards Kuroo one last time, cradling his arm weakly, and Kuroo knocks him down with a kick to the side, shoving his foot against the man’s neck as he looks down on him.

"I should break your neck," he smiles, and the man beneath him whimpers, unmoving.

"Luckily for you, I'm feeling charitable tonight," he growls, taking his foot off the man's neck slowly.

When he turns to face the stranger, he sees him walking out of the alleyway and turning down the street, hunched in on himself.

1001000

Bokuto is walking through the pale light of a dying street lamp when he hears a voice call out, “didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude not to introduce yourself to strangers you’ve just backed in a gang fight?”

The voice startles Bokuto, making the hairs on his neck stand on end as he spins around, surprise evident in his face. As he takes in the face before him, a mess of black hair and a crooked smile and narrowed eyes, he curses himself internally for not hearing the stranger sidle up to him. The silence in his movements sparks something, and Bokuto finds himself assessing the stranger with glowing eyes. There’s nothing seemingly android about him, but Bokuto knows that appearances mean nothing in a world where the only way to find someone’s soul is to cut them open and tear it out.

“Are you a droid?” he asks, eyes narrowing, and the dark haired figure before him blinks twice before erupting into the most obnoxious laughter Bokuto has ever heard; loud and nasally complete with arms wrapped around his waist and everything.

“No,” the stranger says once he’s recovered, “I am definitely not an android. My name is Kuroo. Kuroo Tetsurou.”

There’s a smirk in his voice, but the way he’s standing betrays the trembling of his hands as they drop to his sides carefully. He assesses Bokuto for a moment as though waiting for something before sighing and raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“Am I just gonna keep referring to you as My Saviour or do you have a mortal name to go by?”

The question makes Bokuto’s cheeks flush and he runs a hand through his hair nervously before extending it towards Kuroo with a lopsided smile.

“Bokuto Koutarou. Ex-roboticist.”

There’s something lingering around the edges of ‘ex-roboticist’, but the gleam in Bokuto’s eyes says leave it alone, so Kuroo shrugs, taking the hand extended to him, holding his grip for a moment more than is probably necessary. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, and Bokuto cocks an eyebrow at his newfound companion.

“So, anyway,” Kuroo continues after a pause, and Bokuto isn’t sure whether he’s ignoring the look or hasn’t noticed, figures it’s probably the former. “Why did you pull me out of that fight? Why did you even get involved at all?”

The question sparks embers under Bokuto’s skin, and he turns back to the bar, narrowing his eyes as he assesses the neon sign glowing above it.

“You were fighting for the android, right?” He replies after a moment, and Kuroo cocks his head.

“You’re not wrong,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice, amusement evident in his face. “Do you have one?”

When he gets no answer, Kuroo hums curiously, taking in the way Bokuto is staring at his feet.

“I don’t need a reason to bite back at assholes like that,” Bokuto murmurs before looking back up at Kuroo with clear eyes. He doesn’t answer the question though, and as Kuroo waits it becomes more evident that he’s not going to.

“Did I hit a nerve?” Kuroo asks softly after a moment, and Bokuto flinches as though he’s been punched.

“Not at all,” comes his answer, but the words are thin, fading at the edges.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology startles Bokuto into looking at his acquaintance with wide eyes, brow furrowing as he struggles to find something to say in reply.

“It’s totally fine,” Kuroo hushes him, placing a hand on his shoulder gently. “I get it.”

They walk along the street together, sharing silence under an inky sky. Bokuto steals glances at Kuroo when he thinks the latter isn’t looking, taking in the length of Kuroo’s strides and the way the smooth line of his neck shifts as he moves, muscle under flesh. He is completely organic and Bokuto marvels at the way his own hands itch to trace maps into the small of Kuroo’s back. When he tilts his head over for the fifth time, he goes stiff, realising that Kuroo is watching him with an unreadable expression. The air around them seems to still for a fraction of a second before Bokuto snaps out of his enchantment, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and blinking the cold out of his eyes. He pretends he doesn’t hear Kuroo chuckle softly. They continue down the street, no destination in mind, before Kuroo stops short, tilting his head up and shifting his gaze to where Bokuto has stopped.

“Do you have somewhere to be right now?” Kuroo ask, sly smile creeping across his face.

“You look like a predator,” Bokuto drawls, but he can feel his cheeks tugging his mouth into a smile too, “I mean, not…really, I guess.”

Kuroo turns to face Bokuto properly now, stretching his arms wide on either side of himself, as though on the verge of scooping Bokuto up into his arms.

“Come to my place,” he says, and Bokuto narrows his eyes, tilting his head suspiciously.

“You’re gonna murder me,” he says, and Kuroo folds over like he’s been shot.

“You wound me! I just want to fix your face,” he says, and Bokuto snorts.

“I don’t think my face is the one that needs fixing,” he quips, but he’s already winding his arm around Kuroo’s, pointedly ignoring the triumphant grin now sitting pretty on Kuroo’s lips.

“Lead the way.”

1011001

When they arrive at Kuroo’s place, it’s pitch black.

“You don’t have an outside light?” Bokuto laughs, tripping into the door that’s held open for him.

“I have exceptional eye sight,” Kuroo throws back, and again Bokuto wonders how a specimen such as the one before him can’t not be made of copper and binary. _At least admit you’ve had enhancements done or something_ , he thinks.

“Hey,” he hears somewhere in the darkness stretching in front of him, and when the door shuts with a sound like a shotgun, he feels the looming presence of Kuroo’s body over him, crowding him back against the wood.

“Hey,” he whispers back, and somewhere, somehow, the lights flick on, glowing golden around them.

When his mouth makes contact with Kuroo’s for the first time, he snaps his head back against the door– hits it on the wood. Kuroo wants to laugh at him but before he can step away from where he’s caged Bokuto against the door, Bokuto latches onto him like his life depends on it.

“We don’t have to—” Kuroo murmurs against his mouth, but Bokuto cuts him off before he can finish, grazing Kuroo’s bottom lip with his teeth.

“Yes we do,” he says, and Kuroo pushes into him like he’s trying to break down the door with their collective weight.

Bokuto thinks maybe there’s only one door that needs breaking down.

They move against each other in a series of sighs; stuttered breaths as their hands wander over the peaks and crests of each other’s bodies. When Bokuto feels Kuroo’s tongue lick a stripe down his jaw he hisses, tilting his head so as to give Kuroo more access to his neck.

“You’re so organic,” he sighs, and Kuroo laughs into the hollow of his neck, vibrations from the sound sending shockwaves down Bokuto’s spine.

“And you are so transparent,” comes the reply, and then there are no more words, Kuroo nipping his way along Bokuto’s skin, tugging gently on the baby hairs sitting at the back of his neck. When he looks up to grin at Bokuto, he’s pushed back, stumbling backwards as Bokuto chases him with a laugh. He falls into his kitchen table, jumping to sit on the flat surface and opening his legs as an invitation for Bokuto. He sees Bokuto swallow once before moving to nestle himself between Kuroo’s legs, and Kuroo wraps them around Bokuto’s waist to pull him closer, running his fingers along each vertebra in Bokuto’s back.

“W-wait,” Bokuto stammers, face red, and Kuroo rests a hand on the waistband of Bokuto’s jeans, eyebrow raised in a silent question. “Your face is really fucked up,” Bokuto frowns, peering at the grazes littered across Kuroo’s face. “We should probably do something about that.”

There’s a pause, and Kuroo realises they’re wrapped up in each other directly under a halogen light, wounds glistening in all their glory.

“It’s fine,” he grouses, beginning to unbuckle Bokuto’s jeans, but the grey haired figure squawks in protest, batting Kuroo’s hands away and pushing himself out of his entrapment between Kuroo’s thighs.

“Seriously! I think you need stitches!” His eyes have gone wide as he assesses the damage to Kuroo’s face, homing in on a particularly nasty cut just above his eyebrow.

“Your hands…” he trails off as he takes Kuroo’s hands into his own, eyes flashing as Kuroo winces. “I forgot how easily humans bleed.”

The comment elicits a snort from Kuroo, who tugs his hands back out of Bokuto’s grip.

“Are you really gonna make me sit here in a state like this while you patch me up?” He asks, amusement clear in his voice, and Bokuto’s eyes flick indignantly around the room, fixating on a space above Kuroo’s head.

“Aw come on,” Kuroo taunts, “now’s not the time to get shy!”

When Bokuto’s gaze falters, Kuroo nudges at his thigh with his foot, causing him to look down in alarm.

“C’mon,” Kuroo whines, and they stare off for about three seconds before Kuroo relents, leaning back and pointing to where the first-aid kit is. “First shelf under the sink. At least let me unbutton my pants.”

Bokuto laughs openly at the request, waving a hand as he moves towards the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, but I’m telling you now you won’t tempt me out of stitching you back together.”

“Damn it,” Kuroo clicks his tongue from his seat on the table, “and here I thought I was going somewhere.”

When he comes back to the kitchen table, Bokuto pushes Kuroo back before climbing onto the table too, tugging Kuroo’s face closer to his before pulling out a wad of cotton and antiseptic.

“This is going to sting,” he murmurs, dousing the cotton in the liquid and dabbing it against Kuroo’s cheek. He doesn’t ignore the way Kuroo flinches into the touch, hissing softly.

“I told you,” he quips, and Kuroo flashes him a dark look. When he’s done with the cut on his cheek, he moves on to the cut above Kuroo’s eyebrow, cleaning the edges before stitching him back together with surgeon’s precision.

“Why are you so good at this, anyway?” Kuroo bites through the pain, and Bokuto pauses to look down at his companion.

“They taught us first aid at the labs, but mostly I used to take in bots who’d been thrown in the trash, patch ‘em up traditionally so I could pretend I wasn’t the only fleshbag with feelings in my entire lab.”

“You’re fuckin’ weird,” Kuroo grouses, and Bokuto snorts, focusing on the space between each stitch.

When he’s tied each knot, he moves to pick up one of Kuroo’s hands, caressing the inside of Kuroo’s wrist softly. He runs his hand along each line in Kuroo’s palm, sighing as he grazes the calloused skin with his nails. He feels Kuroo’s breathing hitch as he swipes at the bruised edges of Kuroo’s palm, entwining his fingers with Kuroo’s and bringing the bloody knuckles to his mouth. When he plants an open mouthed kiss next to where the skin has begun to scab, Kuroo visibly shudders, swallowing thickly.

“What are you doing?” Kuroo murmurs, blinking up at Bokuto with heavy lidded eyes.

“Are you tired?” Bokuto answers back, voice barely a whisper, and Kuroo shakes his head, leaning in to the touch.

“Don’t you have – something to fix as well?” Kuroo hums, shifting forward so he can push his head into the space between Bokuto’s neck and shoulder, breath hot against the skin.

“They’re all superficial scratches,” Bokuto grins, “you were the one who took most of the damage.”

When Kuroo lifts his head again to look at Bokuto, Bokuto slides their mouths together like he’s fitting the last piece of a puzzle into place, and Kuroo moves into the touch until he’s practically sitting in the other’s lap. When Kuroo runs his hands down the front of Bokuto’s shirt, tugging on the waistband of his jeans, Bokuto doesn’t object, panting into Kuroo’s mouth.

“This is okay, right?” Kuroo asks against the swell of his lip, and Bokuto answers with a whine, pushing into the touch.

He doesn’t need to unbuckle Kuroo’s pants, palming at the soft cotton underwear as though asking for permission. When he stays that way for more than two seconds though, Kuroo growls, taking Bokuto’s hand and forcing it under the elastic. His own hand is already tugging at Bokuto’s dick, and Bokuto hunches over, trembling as he leans his head on Kuroo’s shoulder. They stay that way, rocking into each other’s hands until Kuroo feels teeth as Bokuto bites into his shoulder, groaning. The sound pushes Kuroo over the edge, and he comes with a gasp, letting Bokuto fuck into his hand roughly before following suit. They sit in silence for what feels like an eternity before Bokuto leans back, blinking at Kuroo with bleary eyes.

“Sorry for biting your shoulder,” he says, and Kuroo purses his lips, trying (and failing) not to collapse into a fit of giggles.

“My shoulder?” he snickers, and Bokuto watches him with a frown, fighting the smile he feels tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m serious!” he protests, but Kuroo is still trying to catch his breath, moving off the table and opening a cupboard to produce a towel, throwing it at Bokuto with a “clean yourself up, dumbass.”

There’s nothing malicious in his tone though, and Bokuto smiles into his lap as he wipes his hands. When they’ve cleaned up adequately – Bokuto throwing the bloody cotton in the bin and Kuroo throwing the towel in the wash basket – Bokuto clears his throat, facing Kuroo with an unreadable expression.

“I should – probably go,” he says, and _there’s that sadness again_ , Kuroo notes as he assesses the figure before him.

“Where are you going?” he asks, and Bokuto turns his mouth downwards as he thinks, eyes alight.

“Oh. I don’t know, I saw a pretty great old warehouse a few blocks down from here, maybe I’ll set up shop there.”

His eyes are fierce under the golden glow of the lights, and Kuroo huffs out a breath, amused smile dancing across his face.

“If you need anything you know where I am, right?” he says, and Bokuto nods once before pulling Kuroo into one a bone crushing hug.

“If you need me, you’ll find me,” he murmurs, and Kuroo sighs, empty question hanging in the air. _What are you running from?_

“It’ll be okay,” Bokuto grins as he walks down the footpath and onto the street, “if I ever get bored I’ll just break in, force you to make me mac and cheese or something!”

“That’s a threat I’ll hold you to,” Kuroo calls after him, and then Bokuto is gone.

(It’s not the last they see of each other, Kuroo helping Bokuto turn the warehouse into more than just a place to hide, and Bokuto telling Kuroo he loves him every time until Kuroo has to push him into bed. Their dynamic is one of ‘don’t ask if you don’t want to know’, and as they move together through the streets, spitting blood at strangers and patching each other up with copper and coding, Kuroo thinks that maybe there’s nothing about this boy he doesn’t want to know. When he tells Bokuto this, Bokuto knows why it was never just about him. Why it never will be.)


End file.
